Finding Faith Pt2 - William
by WilliamAndJulia
Summary: The second-parter to my prequel for Final Symbol. Everything is finally explained. Please R


******Pt.2! :) proof read and posted in 2 and a half hours. phew- bed! Hope everyone enjoys. **

**Please R&R  
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**Disclaimer: I Own Nothing :(  
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**Finding Faith- William**

A man felt something mysterious when he watched the clock strike midnight. There was something about that moment, that feeling of being on the thin bridge between one day and the next. It was a split second no man could grasp, but in that split second, he felt a curious zing through his body telling him that something – in the air, in time, in space – had changed.

William had forgotten the intensity of that feeling until he saw Julia's eyes, just after he revealed to her the secret symbol of his key. There was a change in her gaze, one which he immediately associated with the stroke of midnight on a clock. There was no sound to alert him to it, no quiet tick or blaring bell. He only felt it, deep inside, where inklings were made into truths.

The truth in that moment was that Julia loved him.

The peace that came from knowing Julia reciprocated his love was astonishing at first. William was sure enough that what he saw in her eyes was mirrored in his own, yet he knew he had to handle the situation delicately. Julia was a sensitive woman, after her recent over publicised, bad mouthed marriage to Darcy Garland fell to pieces. And one wrong move from him could scatter her feelings away into the wind.

It was at the same time invigorating and frustrating to keep so quiet.

If he was clever enough, he could reveal one secret to her at a time, and maybe that would help her along. He could do it this way, slowly and seductively, leaving her with little pieces of a puzzle. She could piece it together, and maybe she would willingly tell him of her feelings.

He promised he would wait for her.

That promise now seemed like a curse.

He had to encourage her somehow, help her to sense his feelings for her without overwhelming her. Everything would have to be carefully thought over, and be subtle enough that George or Ruby would not catch on more than he wanted.

Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

As soon as Julia bolted from the Station House to find George, William began to realize the gravity of the situation. He had never before gone from being so calm to so panicked in such a short frame of time. He felt it in his bones, the overwhelming love he had for Julia – how ready he was – how ready they both were for this moment to come at last. But he did not want to rush into it with hot-headed gusto. He wanted to make it right, absolutely perfect for her.

What to do? What to do?

His mind was swirling like a canoe caught in a violent river current, heading in no fixed direction. His thoughts were all over the place, inventing images of Julia's face so close to his that his lips were nearly tempted to kiss the air.

But she was nowhere near him. She was with Ruby in the conservatory, far on the other side of the road.

She was too far from him. He hated when she was so far away.

William leaned heavily on the surface of his desk, his wrists bending under his weight as he breathed above the flame of an unsuspecting lamp. All it took was one passionate exhale before the fire flickered erratically and vanished into a blackened ember.

The smoke rose quietly, caressing his face like the fingers of a caring friend. The familiar scent calmed his nerves, and he took a few moments to regain the breath he had lost before standing up straight.

Thrumming with conviction, he bolted from one side of his study to the other, gathering up every bit of evidence that would reveal his love for Julia. All of the notes he had written to her, all of his journals, the bits of ribbon and thread that had fallen loose from her dresses. He stuffed them all safely into his detectives bag, donned his jacket, and rushed out to his carriage.

The bag rested beside him in the passenger front seat, looking so ominous for such an innocent object. Inside of it, he knew his heart was hidden.

He had to do it. So that Julia wouldn't accidentally discover any of it while he was away. So that George or Ruby wouldn't try to do anything brash in his absence.

He would take it all home with him, clear his head, and then figure out what to do.

His plan had been simple enough when he first left the station house that morning, but after a furiously distracting day and evening on a case, William was in quite a different state of mind.

He locked himself in his cramped little office with the blinds shut on all the windows and tried to regain some semblance of composure.

There were so many ways to go about this – so many daunting, terrifying ways. Somewhere in his storm of thoughts, William remembered the Inspectors teasing suggestions to buy a hundred roses and fill an entire room with them for Julia to discover. When he'd first heard the idea from his friend it sounded absurd, but now William questioned whether it was really just a foolish heap of maudlin nonsense.

After all, Julia's final symbol had been... a rose.

The evening was drawing near, and William had only a few hours left before Julia would be coming to keep him company on the night shift. Would she return after their encounter..?, if she knew the cause of his lateness, perhaps she would understand.

This was the night he was going to prepare. He had made his decision.

After a few minutes of travelling, William asked the driver to park on the side of the street in town, several blocks away from the florist. The streets were fairly busy as they neared the six o'clock hour. Businessmen who had been working late bustled about on the sidewalks, eager to claim a free table in one of the local cafés before the crowds came in. The night was crisp and cool, and the outdoor air was still. William wished he could enjoy it as the people around him did, but inside he was hopelessly nervous for what awaited him.

Rounding the street corner, he found the charming store front to the local flower shop, its large window boasting gaudy bouquets of every flower imaginable. The sweet springtime scents drifting from the door filled his stomach with butterflies. It reminded him so much of Julia.

'Little girls never outgrow their fondness for flowers,' he remembered her saying.

Looking cautiously up and down the street for suspicious eyes, he straightened his jacket and quickly entered the shop before one of the townspeople could recognize him.

A plump, middle-aged woman at the counter glanced up from trimming lily stems to greet him with an askew smile. "Can I help you, sir?"

William swallowed, wondering if this woman could guess he was most likely more nervous than she was. "I ... I was wondering if you had any roses."

Of course they had roses. This was the only flower shop in town. He could smell the unmistakable fragrance them already.

The woman set down her scissors and swept her brown bangs to one side. Her small brass earrings, which were shaped like tulips, swung haphazardly as she moved about behind the counter.

"Why, of course I have roses, young man!"

Her enthusiasm told William she must not have had many customers that day. He supposed it made sense since it was a work day, and she had likely been just about to close up the shop right before he barged in.

He smiled weakly as she stumbled in her excitement. "Wait right here while I bring in my selection."

While she rummaged around in the back room, William glanced at his pocket watch. It was almost five minutes until six. He hoped to make it out before the dinnertime rush. Many of the detectives he knew from station houses around Toronto would be coming into town to eat after their shifts ended. If he waited around much longer he would likely find himself stuck in some restaurant with a plate of spaghetti in front of him. He certainly didn't want to fake another stomach flu like he did the last time that happened...

"Early springs not the best season for roses, but we have the best as they come around here," the florist said as she placed a tray of freshly de-thorned rose stems on the counter in front of him.

As William stepped closer, he stared sadly at the line of colourful flowers. They were not as lush as the ones he remembered growing in his garden in Nova-Scotia, and they were nowhere near as vibrant as the ones Julia dreamed of planting in the morgue gardens. Of course they were still beautiful, even with their thinner petals and slightly faded colours. But he could never fill an entire room with just eight roses, which was all this woman had.

It seemed the Inspectors romantic plan would not make it past the drawing board.

Reaching down with careful fingers, William stroked the velvet bud of one deep scarlet rose, wondering how he could bear to tell this woman that he had changed his mind about buying flowers from her.

While she was distracted by his fingers, he managed to peek at her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her smile was glowing.

"You'll be visiting a lady tonight, hm?"

William took a strained breath. He was far too easy to read.

"Yes...and I want to do something special for her," he said softly. "But I fear I've waited too long to tell her how I feel."

The woman swiped her sweaty palms on the front of her bright purple checked vest and sighed. "It's never too late to tell a lady that you love her."

William gave the stranger a small, appreciative smile.

He suppressed a pang of embarrassment as more blood rushed to her round face. "'Sides, your little honey would be off her rocker if she said no to you!"

Before William could protest, the woman was already wrapping one elegant red rose in tissue paper.

Frantically, he fished in his pockets for spare change. "Oh, here I—"

"Ah ah ah! I won't take one clam from you, son," she chided, thrusting the flower into his hand. "It's yours. Now get a move on!"

"But—"

"You can't put a price on love, dear," she said softly, her eyes turning moist as she continued to push away his fistful of coins. "You're far too young to waste any more time, trust me."

The irony of her warning stung him hard in the heart, but the truth of her words healed any doubt he had left.

William accepted the rose with whispered words of thanks. He had no idea what he would do with a single red rose, but it didn't matter any more. He had no plan at all for tonight. He was relying all on whims now.

It was exactly six o'clock when the flower shop closed.

William left six dollars on the counter before he left.

-}0{-

The night was still too young for comfort. William had underestimated how crowded the streets would be when he left the florist's. The jarring smells oregano and tomato sauce wafted from the constantly opening and closing doors of the local restaurants. The most popular place to dine in town was an Italian café owned by the infamous Pellicciotta family.

Already, a long queue had gathered just outside the restaurant's doors. Well dressed townspeople chatted animatedly while they waited for their reservations, several of whom William could recognize from the Station Houses around town.

It was impossible to make it back to his car without passing through the crowd.

Uttering the occasional 'pardon', he managed to squeeze his way through the crowd, slightly dizzy from the mish-mash of male and female voices that swirled around him.

"D'ya see the gams on that dame?"

"Oh, I'm absolutely starved!"

"The food had better be as good as they all say it is."

Several faces he passed eyed him suspiciously, including a silent pair of young women in heavy makeup who were smoking cigarettes against the brick wall of the building. He had seen those women before in different parts of town, always giving him the same, sexually aggressive stare. It some slightly ridiculous way, they frightened him.

William clutched his red rose tighter beneath his jacket, comforted by the way the tissue paper crinkled between his fingers.

The only woman who mattered tonight was Julia. He must get back to the station for her...

Bowing his face out of sight, he sidled past the line of people and only stopped when he was safe on the other side of the building. Small square windows lined the brick wall, allowing him to peer into the restaurant's dark interior. Out of curiosity, William stepped closer to look inside, just to see what he was missing on weekday evenings.

The restaurant was packed with small round tables, nearly every one circled by at least four or five seats. Each table had its own centre candle, and the dim room appeared to be dotted with small, flickering red globes. Every guest was smiling and laughing, with a drink or fork in their hand. Loud conversations clashed from table to table, the topics varying from crude jokes to pleasant chit-chat on the weather. Women were dressed in their finest silk hats and most gaudy jewellery. Apron-clad servers swerved hastily from one table to the next, refilling glasses and stealing away empty plates.

It was indeed a lovely atmosphere, and William could understand why the place was so popular. He only imagined that if he had a regular family like all the rest, he would bring them here every week for dinner, too.

The thought made him slightly sad.

As his eyes wandered distractedly around the scene, they came to rest in a quiet corner of the room, very close to where he watched from his secret spot by the window. All alone at the corner table was a very old man. His eyes were wrinkled and distant as he watched the boisterous and happy people around him, his face impassive. No one in the room seemed to notice him at all. Even the waiter had forgotten to refill his drink.

Every table in the room was filled to full capacity except for the one in the corner where this old man sat. Sadly, it was not surprising to William that the man was ignored by everyone else. The others were all too busy flirting with their dates and laughing at their bosses' jokes to pay any attention to the lonely old man in the corner. But William's compassionate heart could not bear to ignore him.

Throat tight with pity, William wondered about the personal life of this lonely grey spectator.

Why was he here alone tonight? Did he come here often? Was he used to being the only single man at a table? What was his story?

Imagination served William well, whether he asked it to or not. This old man must have walked the world alone for years, just as he had. Perhaps he had once loved a woman and never found the courage to tell her he loved her. Perhaps he had passed up his chance long ago to secure a wife, a family, and friends. Now he had no one to take to dinner each evening. He only took himself.

That was no way to live.

Loneliness was a curse. Why would anyone choose to prolong it?

In the sorrowful, wrinkled face of the mysterious old man, William saw himself. He may not have aged the same way the old man has, but if he had asked for a table at this restaurant tonight, he would have been alone, too.

He didn't want to be alone any more.

He never wanted to be alone again.

The light weight of the rose tucked beneath his jacket suddenly struck him as not enough. Not nearly enough.

A rose would wither and die before long. He needed to give Julia something more if he wanted to secure her love forever. He needed something that would last as long as they would.

He needed a ring.

Drunk on yet another sudden whim, William turned away from the restaurant window and took off down the street in the opposite direction.

He was much less timid about pushing his way through the crowds when he had a deadline to make. It was very possible that the jeweller's had already closed.

The people continued streaming up the street, forcing him to move against the flow of traffic. In the midst of his struggle to move past them, he heard a man's voice from deep within the crowd mutter, "Isn't that Murdoch?"

Seized with dread that he'd been recognized, William turned up his collar to hide his profile as he sprinted across the street.

He heard his name being uttered by several other voices just before he turned onto the next block.

It would have been so much easier to hide his identity if he wasn't so well known.

Cursing silently, William wandered aimlessly up and down the less crowded streets on the other side of town, disobeying traffic laws in order to make it to the jeweller's as fast as possible.

From a distance, he could at last make out the store sign...but the front window, which was usually lit with bedazzling diamonds, was now cave-like and dark.

He was too late.

His heart sank steadily with every step he took closer to the window.

The sight was so familiar, yet foreign in the darkness. He passed by this very window so many times on his way to work every morning, but it was always brightly lit then. He could never help glancing over at the sparkling diamonds, fantasizing about how each one might look on Julia's finger. After months, he'd grown so sick of walking past it every day, just longing to reach into his pocket and spend his every last penny on one special jewel.

Standing there with his hands tight in his pockets, alone in front of the closed jewellery shop, William felt so utterly helpless. Like a child who had just missed the train back home.

The night air felt colder than ever.

Just as he was about to turn around, the muffled sound of voices inside the building alerted him to the presence of two men quarrelling as they made their way to the door.

"That's all I'm asking, just one month! Your mother just doesn't know when to shut her—Holy smokes! Watch where you're going, chap!"

William jumped swiftly backward as a bearded man in a black cap and jacket nearly bumped into him. "Mister Mellingrose!" he exclaimed, surprised to see the shop's owner leaving so late.

The man was almost always cranky, but after finding the town detective loitering outside his shop at night, he had every right to be more cranky than usual.

William didn't need the decency to look ashamed. Shame came naturally as the man's beady eyes looked him up and down in suspicion. An awkward silence followed, during which William could think of no way to explain his presence without revealing his last minute proposal plans.

Before he could stutter an excuse, the young man who still stood behind Mister Mellingrose peeked curiously over the elder man's shoulder. His polite, handsome face and wide brown eyes struck William with sudden familiarity.

Mister Mellingrose's son, Tristan, was in Georges class at the academy. They had both come to the station for training, Tristan unfortunately never made it to constable.

William looked frantically back to the boy's father, hoping Tristan would not make the connection.

"Forgive me, sir. I did not know you were still inside."

The man bristled behind his beard. "So you make a habit out of sneaking around my shop when I'm gone for the night, do you?"

"Oh, no, of course not! I wasn't sure of what time you closed."

"We close at six, dandy? Every business in town closes at six!" He tapped his watch emphatically as if he were speaking to a toddler.

"So it seems," William muttered with a dreary look around the block.

Mellingrose crossed his arms. "Then do you care to explain what you're doing here at this late hour?"

"I was...I was walking through town and I..." William stopped mid-sentence, figuring the truth could do him no worse at this point. It was worth a try. "Well, I was hoping to make a purchase from you tonight, sir."

Mellingrose raised one bushy eyebrow, pressuring him to continue.

"There's a young woman, you see, and I..." William paused, aware of how dangerous revealing this information could be to his identity in town. But he couldn't stop himself from sharing it. He needed this ring tonight, and if it took a pity story to get him into that jeweller's shop, he was going to risk it. "I had hoped I would be able to propose to her this evening."

A soft smile quirked on the younger man's lips. He looked expectantly to his father, as if it were a reasonable enough excuse to open their doors for just one more customer.

But old man Mellingrose wasn't so easily swayed by sappy stories. "I see. And may I assume you are now aware of our store hours?"

William's fingers instinctively clutched the rose hidden in his pocket. "Yes, I am, sir. But I was hoping you might make an exception since—"

The man promptly burst into robust laughter. "Oh-ho! Out of the question, Detective Murdoch" The amusement in his eyes quickly hardened to a look of haughty distaste as he turned to cross the street. "I'm afraid you'll just have to swing by tomorrow with the rest of the public."

William winced, realizing at once how presumptuous and arrogant his request had made him sound.

This was certainly not his night.

Tristan's eyes passed sympathetically over William before he rushed into the street after his father.

"Mister Mellingrose, wait!" William called after the two men.

Without turning around, the elder man raised his right arm in a lazy wave farewell. "Goodnight, Detective!" His voice was merrily muffled as he disappeared around the corner with his son.

When the last of their shadows vanished from the street, William slumped against the jewellery store window with a resounding sigh.

Somewhere in the alley behind the building, a stray cat screeched. Two blocks down, the brakes of a truck came to a deafening halt. The agitated voices of jaywalkers shouted and cussed as their footsteps scattered across the gravel.

With his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, William half opened his eyes and stared longingly at the twinkling display of diamonds on their velvet cases.

He had never considered stealing before, but right about now it seemed a most shamefully appealing suggestion.

He groaned out loud and slipped his fingers securely around the cross that hung under his collar. His eyes squeezed shut as he asked for the strength to wait just one more night. Perhaps he needed another day to think on it. Perhaps it was meant to be that he couldn't buy the ring tonight. He had been acting on impulse all evening long. Maybe this was God's way of telling him it was time to start thinking seriously.

When he opened his eyes, hundreds of diamond rings glinted back at him, like pairs of flirtatious eyes staring him down from every corner of the window.

It was time for him to go back. Julia was waiting.

But he couldn't move his feet from the spot. He was rooted in place.

He couldn't go home with just a rose. He couldn't tell Julia he loved her until he had a ring to prove it.

He would have sobbed if he could have.

Nothing was going to get better if he just stood here all night, but it was all he could do.

The evening wore on around him like a vanishing man in a black cloak. He listened sadly as the restaurants cleared out and the traffic died down in the distance. At some point the moon started to shine brightly above him, taunting his fantasies by making the diamonds in the window shimmer even more radiantly.

In the mournful silence of the street, a steady pattern of footsteps coming closer prompted William to turn around. As the shadowy figure approached, William began to recognize his gait before he saw his face.

Young Tristan Mellingrose, smiling and panting, crossed the street with a ring of brass keys in his hand. His combed brown hair was dishevelled from running, and his shoelaces were untied.

"I thought you'd still be here, Detective Murdoch," he said breathlessly, his loafers shuffling on the concrete as made his way to the door.

William stood aside, baffled. "How did you know?"

"If it were me wanting to propose to my girl, I wouldn't leave until I had what I wanted," he said with a grin of understanding.

William was pleasantly puzzled. "But how did you sneak away from your father?"

"He thinks I'm meeting a friend for dinner in town. I told him I'd be home late." With a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned the key deftly in the lock and opened the front door to the shop. The bell jingled victoriously inside.

William laughed graciously at the boy's elated expression, squeezing his shoulder in hardy appreciation as he followed him through the door.

Tristan's steps led him through the darkness toward the jewellery counter on the back wall.

"Hold on just a moment while I get the lights."

Not a second later the room was bathed in flashes of white and gold; in every corner, watches and necklaces glittered from behind crystal clear cases.

William watched as Tristan came slowly out from behind the counter, his face suddenly looking shy as he contemplated how to say his next words. "George told me that you and that Doctor would end up together one day..''

William sighed. "Well, If anything I know George has an interesting eye for things like that. Not to mention an open opinion too."

Tristan looked embarrassed. "He talks about you all the time."

"...He does?"

The teenager nodded, strands of brown hair falling into his eyes. "He says your his role model. You've taken him to almost every investigation and case. He feels like you believe in him, when so many wouldn't. You have lots of good friends. You collect antiques." His mouth quirked into a smirk. "You go to church on Sundays."

William chuckled mildly, still too shocked to speak.

"He says you're like an idol to him, even though you're just a friend ."

Something inside William became unbearably warm.

"I had no idea..."

Tristan furrowed his brow with a shrug. "He doesn't seem to like it when we ask questions about him, but he really seems to like talking about you, well, that and his aunts"

Another weak, achy laugh leapt from William's throat. He could barely believe what this boy was telling him. George talked about him with his friends..

Almost a minute passed before William realized he was foolishly beaming with pride for his young protégée. He suddenly wished George was present so he could tell him how much he appreciated him in person.

"Detective Murdoch?" Tristan's voice startled him out of his reverie. "Want to see the rings now?"

~)}0{(~

Talking to Tristan was incredibly easy. The boy seemed to be fascinated by anything William had to say. William could tell that he was glad to help someone, mostly because he was doing it against his father's will.

Tristan was just as knowledgeable as the elder Mellingrose when it came to the finer points of jewellery. He showed William the most popular choices in diamond cuts, and the most practical rings for fitting women's fingers.

William hadn't felt this close to another person besides his own colleagues in such a long time. It was refreshing to be able to talk so openly to someone new, especially someone so young. William so often thought of himself as someone who should identify with older men, being that he had lived and grown up with them, having no real young friends. But buried deep within himself, he had neglected that part of him which longed to speak of youthful things. He was, after all, still young in the way of coming to know love.

But even after he was fed every last detail on each diamond in the shop, William still felt a pang of distress when it came to making his decision on which to buy for Julia.

"If money were no object, which do you think your girl would like the most?" Tristan asked in a curious whisper, leaning so close to the diamond case that his breath made a cloud on the glass.

William smirked sadly to himself, confident in his private thoughts that money was no object for him not after Suzanne's passing. She had left him everything, and agreeably, it didn't make him happy or feel any better for having more financial security than he had ever had, But he would gladly buy the entire case of diamond jewellery for Julia if she so desired.

Unfortunately for the Mellingroses' business, Julia was not that kind of woman.

"I don't really know," he sighed honestly, his gaze still travelling patiently from case to case. It must have been well past midnight by now. He dearly hoped Mister Mellingrose wouldn't be suspicious about his son's whereabouts.

"I guess it is a hard decision," Tristan sympathized.

William tapped his fingers on the glass. "I could see her liking any of them."

"But could you see any of them on her finger?"

It was a wise question.

William gave it a moment of deep thought.

"She's a working woman, modern so it should be small – something she can wear even when she's working. And she likes to cycle, and entertain the outdoors so it should be light-weight, and tight enough that it won't slip off when she is."

Tristan frowned as his eyes scanned the cases. "Hmm. I don't really think any of these are for her." Something in his eyes changed suddenly, the pride of a brilliant idea blooming on his face. "Come into the back room with me."

Without question, William followed the boy through a small hallway and into the storage room.

"My mother travels the world" Tristan explained randomly as he rummaged through boxes and shelves, searching for something. "She's been everywhere, all over Europe and Asia. She even went to Australia when she was eighteen. She used to collect old jewellery from around the world when she was younger. Whenever she came back from visiting a new place, she would bring a gift for me to keep from her trip." William began to understand where all the information was leading up to, just as Tristan turned around with a small leather pouch in his hand. He reached inside and produced a tiny golden band. "Just last month, she gave me this."

William opened his hand to receive the mysterious ring. Once he held it, he could see clearly that it was not just a simple golden band.

In the place where a plain cut diamond usually rested, the ring bloomed outward with tiny golden leaves. Nestled in the centre of those leaves was a rose made from at least fifty pin-dot diamonds. Their colour was fascinating, unlike any other diamonds William had ever seen. He wondered if the difference in colour and brilliance was only something visible to his trained eyes. The clear stones seemed to glow with the slightest tint of pink when he placed it in the light. Even the gold of the ring itself seemed to shine with a nearly imperceptible sheen of rosy pink.

"It's from Russia," Tristan told him. "Pure gold, of course. Probably a Mid-17th Century make. Fantastic detailing. I think it's spectacular."

William suppressed a small smile. The boy was a brilliant salesman, even if his father didn't think so.

"It's beautiful, Tristan. But I can't buy this from you. It's priceless. Your mother gave it to you."

The boy smirked with a happy shrug. "What am I going to do with a diamond ring?"

William frowned and looked away from the ring in his hand, which seemed to grow more achingly beautiful by the second. "Keep it until you're ready to propose. It has sentimental value."

"Everything my mother gave to me has sentimental value, and believe me there's plenty," he laughed. "Besides, I might never even get married."

William shook his head vehemently, but Tristan forced him to keep hold on the tiny ring.

"I want you to take this ring, Detective Murdoch. Give it to your girl. She'll fall in love with it."

William looked down at the brilliant diamond rose with a burning heart. Just imagining it perched on Julia's finger was an intoxicating thought.

"George would grate me if he found about this," he mused tonelessly.

"Just between us, George doesn't know much about girls," Tristan confided with a chuckle.

William laughed heartily. "I'm fairly sure he's proud of that fact, too."

"So you'll take it?"

William noticed then how tired the boy's face was. Prolonging sleep for as long as he had was not healthy. It was only pure excitement that was keeping him awake.

After a deep breath, the detective conceded. "Name your price."

Tristan smiled and shook his head. "I don't want any dough for it, Detective."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tristan. I need to pay you."

"Come on, my father's not the one doing the selling here."

"I insist." William reached into his pocket and placed a fifty dollar certificate on the table beside him.

Tristan's mouth fell open.

The poor boy was speechless for a good minute. William wasn't surprised by his reaction. It was likely he had never seen anyone purchase a fifty dollar ring without first sleeping on their decision for at least a few days.

"Detective Murdoch," he murmured, staring blankly at the limp bill laying on the table.

"We won't tell your father," William whispered furtively, exchanging a significant look with Tristan's wary eyes.

The young boy's lips curved into a wide smile of utter disbelief as his fingers carefully traced the edge of the faded bill.

"I don't know how to thank you."

"I'm the one who needs to thank you," William said emphatically. "My night would have gone in a very different direction if it weren't for you coming back to find me. I don't think you realize how much that meant to me, Tristan."

He grinned sheepishly, barely able to suppress a yawn.

William chuckled. "You need to go home, now. Get some sleep. I know you have class tomorrow."

Still smiling sleepily, Tristan gathered his fortune with shaky fingers and set them carefully into the breast pocket of his jacket. He made sure every button on his jacket was fastened tightly before locking up all of the display cases they had opened throughout the night.

They were pleasantly silent as they turned the lights off and departed the shop together. The streets were barren and still, but the moon still shone brightly on the other side of the sky.

While Tristan was busy locking the doors, William realized he couldn't let the boy walk home by himself in the dark. He probably lived at least a mile uptown.

"Let me take you home."

Tristan waved his hand at the offer, but William insisted. In the end, the boy was too tired to refuse.

Judging from the way Tristan fell asleep as soon as he got in the carriage, William wondered if the boy would even bother attending class the next morning. As they went, Tristan's soft snoring was surprisingly peaceful, along with the endless symphony of crickets outside.

Once he was parked next to the Mellingroses' fancy town house, William reached into his pocket to take another look at the ring. Its simple yet stunning beauty would be the perfect complement to Julia's delicate finger. As his thumb gently traced the thin gold band, his eyes swelled with tears. No man on earth would be as happy as he, if only she would accept his proposal.

Until then, his dreams were well on their way to becoming real.

The dreams of another young man, he regretted to say, were about to end in a few seconds.

"Tristan," he called gently, prodding the boy's shoulder to wake him up. "We're at your house."

The teenager raised his head with an endearing look of confusion, his eyes bleary and his hair mussed.

"Don't forget your house keys," William reminded as he tossed him the brass ring full of keys he had stolen from his father.

Tristan accepted the keys with a nod, the jangling sound seeming to wake him abruptly from his stupor. His awareness of the grand sum of money in his pocket had not worn away from the effects of sleep, William was surprised to see. He held his jacket tightly around his body as he opened the car door to step onto the curb.

"You won't get into trouble with your father, will you?" William asked in concern.

"Nah. He's a sound sleeper."

"Be careful."

"Thanks, Detective Murdoch." Tristan paused before closing the car door. "Maybe I'll see you around soon?"

"If you don't get to bed right now, I'll be seeing you very soon...in the hospital."

His boyish features crinkled into a look of confusion. "Huh?"

"Lack of sleep is very bad for the immune system," the detective explained.

"Oh, right. In that case you'd better get home soon, too."

William couldn't help but chuckle. "I will."

"Oh, and Detective?" He turned abruptly before William could close the door to the carriage.

"Yes?"

"Good luck with the proposal."

Still clutching the ring in his right hand, William nodded his appreciation.

"Thank you, Tristan."

The boy shared a groggy smile before closing the car door. William watched him walk sluggishly up the pavement until he was safe inside his house.

Before tonight, Tristan Mellingrose had just been another one of Georges's classmates. Now he was William's greatest hero.

~)}0{(~

William never made it to the Station House that night.

After he left the Mellingroses' house, he drove aimlessly through town until he made it to the familiar forest roads that wound for miles towards Chartercrest. But instead of heading straight home like he usually did at the end of his shift, he took a right turn where he always turned left, and decided to see where it would lead him.

The woods seemed darker as he ventured into unfamiliar territory. It was still early enough that the sun had not yet risen. The sky was beautiful but dreary, an endless blanket of dull blue-gray. On the sides of the road, the gangly branches of trees stretched out like lines of ink against the sky, not a gust of wind to make them dance. They stood in utter stillness against their gloomy backdrop, as if they had been pasted into a single moment in time.

The road swerved and curved through the forest, leading him up a hill. He could not see anything beyond the thick barrier of trees that surrounded him, but he trusted that any path leading uphill would be a worthwhile path to follow.

Trust led William to the majestic edge of a cliff on the very top of the mountain, overlooking a glorious sea of trees below. The first thing he thought when he saw the stunning scene through the carriage window, was how beautifully Julia could have looked against the backdrop.

The silence on this mountaintop was the purest silence William had heard in a long time. The early hour of morning, combined with his distance from any populated area, ensured that no sound save for the chirping birds and the rustling breeze could be heard.

William opened the door of the carriage and stepped outside, breathing in the untainted morning air. Everything was cool and damp, droplets of dew making everything around him sparkle faintly in the darkness. The sky was just beginning to lighten on the horizon now, bearing a timid periwinkle streak of clouds. The strong scents of wet grass, earth, and solitude filled his lungs with every breath. From inside his jacket he could still smell the soft fragrance of the single red rose he intended to give Julia.

Shrugging off his jacket, William opened his pocket to find the velvety petals peeking out. In that very same pocket he had hidden her engagement ring – another rose, of quite a different value.

He reached inside and pulled out the golden rose ring. It was mind-boggling that something so tiny could rival the majesty of the grand scene before him.

That tiny ring meant everything to him. To William, it held the weight of the world and the colours of a thousand suns.

As he slowly turned it between two fingers, the diamonds glittered tenderly, even under a canopy of dim grey shadows. Somehow, watching the shimmering stones helped to restore his strength after a long night.

When the sun finally rose in the distance, William held his head high to watch the coming of a new day.

He had no idea when or how he was going to propose to Julia. But he trusted that when the time came, he would know.

All it would take was a little faith.

-}0{-

Stuffing his Detectiv's bag full of all his love letters before he left that night had been a foolish precaution.

He hadn't accomplished anything, hadn't prepared anything special. He had nothing to show after an entire night, no plans at all. Just a priceless ring and a red rose.

It was only at this point that William began to feel the first pangs of pain that came with this game he'd started. It was too slow. It wasn't keeping up with the flame that had come to life with their very first touch, and now it was threatening to burn him alive. He couldn't hold it back any more. This woman – his partner, his best friend, his kindred spirit, his fantasy, his passion – was threatening his steel control to bend and break.

Seeing the answer in Julia's eyes was not enough.

How would he hold out until she was ready to confess her love?

He barely had time to wonder before he opened the door to his office that morning and found her lovely face waiting for him on the other side.

"Tell me about God."

It was what he had been waiting for. He hadn't even realized how long he'd been wanting to hear Julia ask it. It was the only thing he had wanted even more than her profession of love.

This was the last discussion they truly needed before they were ready to take the next step. If she wanted him to tell her about God, William would not only tell her, he would show her.

"Walk with me," he said. And she followed.

It was unlike anything he had experienced before.

He spoke to her about the power of faith, and she fed from his words. Her eyes would flicker with doubt, and he would slay that doubt the instant he saw it. He never gave it a chance to infect her heart.

He quelled every one of her insecurities with assurances until she could think of nothing more to inspire worry.

The lake shimmered before them as dawn bloomed in the distance. Everything around them was comfortably dark, so achingly ready to become lighter than it ever had been.

Everything was a metaphor. Everything she said made him quake inside with a need so great it forced him to question his own morality. Everything was twice as beautiful as it should have been, only because Julia made his world a more beautiful place.

Her beauty was enticing, and dangerous, and wholesome, and innocent. It was a paradox of saintliness and sin. He wanted to grasp it, somehow, and hold it between his fingertips. He wanted to see it with eyes that were wide open, and not halfway closed.

He said things to her that a good man would say. His words were pure and honest, and his message was only a message of truth. But inside his heart there was a storm. Electric currents thrust through his veins, every region of his body was disturbed by the tender torture of her voice, her expressions, her gaze.

Though it was rare for his eyes to ever leave hers, sometimes he found himself distracted by the sight of her hand in the grass. Dove white and slender, her fourth finger seemed so irresistibly lonely without a ring to protect it.

He wanted to dress it in gold and diamonds. He wanted her to feel the weight of his promise whenever she moved her hand. He wanted her to remember it every time she went to lift that finger. He wanted the ring to be tight enough to cause her the tiniest bit of discomfort – that perfect kind of pain that so eloquently embodied their love for each other.

He asked her to stay with him. He told her to stay.

He told her that he needed her, that her touch gave him life, that he wanted her to abandon all reason and trust only in him.

It gave him chills just hearing himself say these things to her. It was as if he were watching the entire scene from a separate pair of prying eyes. He could hear himself speaking in hushed, intimate tones – a man making desperate and dangerous confessions to a woman whose only expectation was to listen.

Julia listened so intently it frightened him.

She wanted to hear all that he had to say. She wanted to learn, she wanted to trust, she wanted to understand. She wanted to know about God, because she wanted to know William as deeply as she could.

It was never more clear how dearly she wanted to belong to him.

Their conversation drew itself to a satisfying close; an exchange of sweet promises spoken in burning whispers, as the sunrise blessed them both with streams of golden light.

A wave of morning mist collected around them, and William felt as if it were protecting him, helping to calm his fever. Hidden by gauzy clouds of light and colour, William found the confidence to kiss the woman whose love outshone the stars.

His lips touched her forehead, so soft that he felt it only in his heart. Julia sighed in his arms, and he held her tighter. No feeling on earth could surpass this, he was certain.

An obscenely deep sense of fulfilment struck him in every part of his body, a weight like silk and lead filling him from head to toe.

His kiss lingered, sealed and secured on her velvet skin. It would never leave her, so long as she would never leave him.

-}0{-

He could see the sadness in Julia's eyes when he left her alone outside, and it felt like a spear in his side. At the same time, he felt elated to know that she would ache without him.

Again, there was a small pinch of doubt in his stomach.

He couldn't have just been imagining these looks she kept giving him. Her eyes were pools of heaven for him, her longing glances were radiant. She was latched on to him, soul to soul. He could feel her tugging him from afar. Her gravity summoned him wherever he went.

It grew stronger every day.

Every hour. Every instant.

He couldn't possibly go back to the Station House that morning. He called in promptly to complain of a "fever"

It was at least partially true. His body did feel as though it were on fire.

He bolted back to his house and headed straight for his study. He quickly found his detective bag filled with love notes and journal entries. All he could do was stare at the mess while his fingers itched to post them all to the walls of the house.

Something had to be done.

His gaze drifted down to take in the spattered ink covered letters he had stuffed inside the bag. He was convinced there was no room in there for even one more note.

But in the back of his mind, he could think of a thousand more things to say to Julia.

It was time to stop writing, and start saying those things instead.

William closed his eyes tightly, one hand gripping his chest where his heart beat heavily. Having a heartbeat, he thought, made a man feel much braver.

He relived the previous night in a flawless stream of fleeting memories, knowing that as everything came rushing back to him, he would only find more evidence that destiny was at work.

Destiny. No man crossed her path more than twice in a lifetime. But he felt this was his miracle second chance.

It wasn't until later that William decided to carefully let George in on his plans. It was fair to say the young man was a bit confused by his mentor's scattered thoughts.

"You talked to Tristan Mellingrose? When? Why? You bought Dr. Ogden a ring? Are you crazy? People can't know you're trying to get engaged..? You know everything with Dr. Garland has only just been forgotten. I can't believe you bought her a ring. You should have just stuck with that stupid rose the lady gave you for free... Wait, who's the old man in the restaurant? Will, what the hell were you doing all last night?"

"Just take a deep breath, George," William managed to interject. "You sound like you're going to explode."

To William's surprise, George obeyed his command. Somewhat calmed, the boy asked idly, "So what's your plan now?"

William looked at the ground. "I...I don't really have one."

George rolled his eyes. "I figured as much."

"Let me think for a bit, will you?"

"Suit yourself." A suspicious half-smirk crossed George's face as he glanced at the black leather bag full of love notes on the desk between them.

Something dangerous blossomed in the back of William's mind.

He looked up at once, stunned. "I have time, don't I?"

"Plenty of it," George whispered, somewhat warily. "Dr. Ogden isn't in yet."

The wheels were turning. The clock was ticking. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and things were beginning to take shape.

William felt a sweet surge of panic fill his chest. His plans were one step ahead of him, and he was struggling to keep up.

"Will you make sure she doesn't come near the morgue for a while? Perhaps enlist Ruby's help..?" he begged his bemused protégée as he grabbed his detective's bag and made for the hall. "Just keep her outside." The young man rolled his eyes and nodded with a bemused look.

"Good," William whispered to himself as he escaped out the door. "Good..."

"Where are you going?" George called. William didn't answer.

Once in the morgue, William followed Julia's lingering scent into her small office – the one room in the morgue he hardly ever set foot in any more. He placed his detective's bag on the tiles by the door and held his rose loosely at his hip.

His shoes clicked gently on the tiled floor as he entered the room, nearing her desk. The papers and reports were all placed perfectly. The streaming sunbeams touched the surface in a fleeting wave of light. Something deep inside his chest shivered and he quickly looked away.

The single red rose he held in his hand looked very poignant against the backdrop of dark wood. But what could he do with the ring? He didn't want to leave it for her to find. He wanted to be the one to give it to her, to place it on her finger himself.

Perhaps he could somehow leave the rose behind with a note of some kind, leading her to where he would be waiting with the ring.

But where would he wait for her? And how would he know when she was about to find his note? She was also very fond of the morgues library. Maybe he could leave a note in there for her to find.

William squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. This was all too complicated. He needed to simplify his plan.

Just as he was about to begin pacing around the room, he noticed a small corner of paper peeking out of Julia's desk draw. It struck him as curious, and he came closer to investigate.

He cracked the drawer open just enough to tug the piece of paper out, smoothing the creases on his palm to read it.

A rough, piercing sensation shot him straight in the heart. On that piece of paper was the poem he had written to Julia long ago, the one he had slipped inside her poetry books. The words were so familiar and still rang so true, it was as if he had written them yesterday.

Julia must have thought that poem very special to keep it inside her drawer all this time. He wondered what else she may have kept in there...

Kneeling down in front of the desk, William paused and placed his rose on the surface. His fingers hesitated before he made to pull open the drawer the rest of the way. This was Julia's office. He had already invaded her privacy, and he was about to take it one step further. This was inappropriate.

His fingers clasped the handle and gave the gentlest of tugs.

It creaked softly in warning, begging his fingers to let go before it was too late.

But Lord help him, he just couldn't stop himself from opening that drawer.

He held his breath and pulled it open the rest of the way – quick and brash, like ripping a bandage off a fresh cut.

He couldn't believe what was inside.

The book of South American maps with the missing page she had discovered in his office. The music box replica he had given her for Christmas. The small white seashell he had let her keep after completing a successful "blood test". The model swan maquette he let her take from his study. The small wooden carving of two clinging hands he had given to her on her last birthday.

Everything he had ever given to Julia, everything that held any amount of significance to their relationship was tucked away in that drawer. She had kept them all safe in one secret place where no one else could find them. Looking at all those objects together was like watching a slowed time progression of their blossoming love. Each gift he had given her grew more intimate as time wore on.

And there were not only gifts he had given her, but simple scraps and reminders of his presence as well. The book of poetry by Byron and Shelly with a bullet still neatly embedded that had saved his life. A shallow beeswax candle he used to have on his desk. A leaf from the Costmary plant he grew on the window sill in his study. An empty fountain pen he had left in the office of the station house.

Opening that desk drawer was like opening a treasure chest that had been buried in the bottom of the ocean for centuries. It was more precious than gold to him, because it confirmed every inkling of his heart from the very beginning.

Breathless and shuddering, William suddenly knew exactly how he would plan Julia's spontaneous discovery.

He tore open the leather bag that held all of his love notes, and began to stuff the drawer full of them before he could change his mind.

There were so many letters they hardly all fit inside of the drawer. He didn't remove any of the things Julia already kept in there. All he did was infest the space with all of the other gifts he should have given her long ago.

As he filled Julia's desk drawer full of his painstakingly private prose, desire spiralled like a ravenous serpent in the pit of his stomach. He had never before felt so high, so alive, so virile and dangerous.

Being so consumed by his maddening project, William was only slightly aware of the violent pounding coming up the stairs to the morgue.

"Will. What. Are. You. Doing?"

George was frozen in the doorway, staring at his mentor as if he'd finally snapped.

"Telling Julia that I love her," William answered boldly as he stuffed another handful of letters into the drawer. "It's brilliant, isn't it?"

George's eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. "Brilliant? It's insane! When is she ever going to look in that drawer? You'll probably be waiting another year for her to find all of this!"

William ignored him and continued his frantic invasion of Julia's desk drawer. George uselessly pawed at the growing pile of letters, trying to steal them away before George could snatch them back again.

"You can't just leave these in here! You'll overwhelm her. It's too much! Just pick one at random and leave it on her pillow with that rose! She'll get the picture!"

"No, George. This is how it has to be done. She deserves to see it all. Everything I've ever hidden from her. This is so...liberating!"

George now looked more frightened than annoyed.

"Will, listen to me, you're not thinking straight. You have got to stop this. She's not going to understand it. She's just going to run scared."

"She won't. I know she won't," William argued passionately. "I've kept her waiting for too long. This is all she needs, and she'll know for certain how I feel about her."

William was bemused. "Good God. It's finally happened." His hands dropped hopelessly to his sides and his eyes went wide. "You've gone mad!"

"Make sure she doesn't come back yet!" William snapped, gesturing at the morgue door. "Where's Ruby- George, go!"

"But you're doing it all wrong!"

"Go!"

"Arrggh!"

In a groan of frustration, George vanished.

For a moment William felt the seed of doubt threaten to sprout in the back of his mind. There must have been a reason George was telling him not to go about it in this way. Had he heard something in Julia's talkings to Ruby that told him she was not ready for a revelation of this magnitude yet?

Perhaps it was true. But William was stunned to find that he could not have cared less.

She would have to accept that his heart could no longer withhold all the love he had for her.

He sighed, and the sound of his breath echoed eerily in the eerie room. The Morgue was quiet, and the air around him was soft but clinical. William's chest felt hollow and strained as he stared into the drawer full of love letters. Somehow the complete mess of it all was satisfying.

In one shaky motion, he stood, closed the drawer, and stepped back. Nothing about the spot looked out of the ordinary. The dark wood of the antique desk was still scarred and scuffed. The drawer's mottled brass handle was still slightly crooked. Anyone who looked at that drawer would never guess the recklessly romantic havoc that was hidden inside.

The only hint he had left behind was the simple scarlet rose that lay on top of her desk.

Everything was as it should be.

He was leaving his heart for Julia to find.

-}0{-

William never left the Station House that morning. He wondered if Julia could sense his presence, if she knew that he could not bear to leave her until she discovered his secret.

William checked his pocket watch. His shift was almost halfway over now.

He hoped Julia would return to the Morgue before he had to go. There was still a slight chance she would come across his letters in her desk drawer, even if she had no motive to look there.

Nerves began to fiddle around in his belly again.

As he expected they would, the tempting visions started. He imagined her flawless fingers twitching towards that brass handle, tugging it open, slipping her hands into the darkness of the drawer, feeling the crumpled corner of a piece of paper...

He saw her eyes, wide and wondrous, flitting across the words he had written, her face changing like sunlight at midday. He saw her fall to her knees on the stark white tiled floor, her lips open to release a soft cry of shock.

He saw her coming towards him, her arms open and shaking, desperate to swallow his body in a violent embrace. He saw himself sliding a tiny golden ring on her finger and kissing it to seal his lifelong promise.

When his hands gripped the desk again, he felt her fingers gripping him back. When he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, he saw her eyes blinking down at him. He saw her hair flowing in the wind, her face hovering above his. He felt her body moving against his, her legs tight around his hips, her lips pinned to his own.

His mind swerved in a million directions as the fantasy pulled him under. Sharp, strong, heavy, soft, weightless, tender. Nothing made sense, yet it felt so right.

When he came back to the world, the sun was on the other side of the sky. He didn't need to look at his watch to know what time it was.

He felt it.

He needed to see her.

His greatest desire was to be one with her, because he knew that linking his soul with hers was the only way to heal wounds too deep to see or even feel.

He hoped that one day he would share so much more with her than just his home and his possessions. He could share all of himself with her, and she would share all of herself with him. Their connection would no longer be such a mystery to him, but rather understood to the smallest detail, with depths and intricacies nested one within another, like the chapels and shrines in a cathedral.

Because he could not bring himself to face Julia right away that evening when he returned to the station house, William found ways to distract himself, hoping that she would come to him.

If she truly loved him, she would always come back to him.

A comfort in his heart told him she would. Peacefully, he retired to the back porch off his study with the leftover baked goods he'd brought home a few days ago.

When some men were feeling frustrated over their situation with a woman, they would find themselves overcome with the urge to sin. In times like this, William was instead overcome with the urge to give.

He was in a terrible place emotionally when no one in the world could receive what he had to offer.

Tonight, the birds were willing to accept what he had to give.

It brought him such sweet, deep relief to break bread and give it to the innocent creatures. Perhaps this was how Christ felt when he shared the last supper with his disciples.

They pounced around in the grass, singing for him, and their song was almost as touching as the sound of Julia softly humming while she read with him at night. There was not much he could compare it to, the satisfaction he felt from feeding those birds. He swore he recognized the same ones; they always came to visit him when he was feeling lonely.

It was remarkable to him that something as simple as bread could be such a treasure to these birds.

Deep down, he knew their hunger. He knew it well. He had felt the same appreciation when Julia showed him the simplest acts of kindness and care.

She fed his soul from the palm of her hand.

What a wonder to think that his own heart could be that valuable to her one day.

One thought of Julia seemed to summon her from the shadows. William turned slowly and saw her standing there in the doorway, watching him. The porch was such a small space in that moment, and he felt pleasantly trapped in place by her striking eyes. Her gaze was locked on his hands as his fingers crumbled the muffin and liberally scattered the pieces onto the grass.

The sun shone just behind the trees now, setting slowly as if it were afraid it might miss a crucial moment between them. Mellow oranges and pinks trickled through the clouds, surrounding a brilliant cerise eye of sunset.

Everything was twice as beautiful when Julia nearby.

His ears were alert to the sounds of the birds, but just barely. He offered a brief explanation for why he was feeding them, but she did not seem to retain his words. Her face was far away, though she seemed to be devouring the sight of him with her eyes.

The sunset was kind to her features. It made her eyes sparkle like drops of molten azure, and her hair shine like pale copper silk. It illuminated every one of her hidden curves through her dress, tempting him with sweeping lines of faint light and fabric. When she smiled at him, her lips glowed a warm, fiery pink – like the ink of lotus flower petals in summer.

Julia's beauty had never touched him so deeply before.

Moments dragged by like months as they stared at each other from across the porch. It was such a small space, he could feel her scent wrapping around him from where she stood. It kept him warm and made him feel protected.

His smile faded as his concentration drifted from her glistening eyes to the place where her hand had risen to rest over her heart.

He knew then, why she had done it. So many times before William would wonder the cause of everything Julia did. But now, his instincts served him well. His awareness was uncanny. He knew the reason behind this subtle feminine gesture.

Her heart ached. Her heart ached from watching him.

There were few gentle ways to set fire to a man's pride. Julia seemed to have found the most gentle of all.

Finding the bread had disappeared from his hand, William's fingers had no task left to distract themselves. If he did not hide his hands now, he feared they would reach out of their own accord to grasp her unexpectedly.

So he tucked them securely into his trouser pockets and remained completely still as he waited for her to react.

She looked down at last, noticing the pressure of her own hand against her breast. Her expression hinted mild embarrassment, but the longing was still there. He could see the burning ache in her eyes as she smiled weakly at him, turned around, and reluctantly vanished from the scene.

He could have followed her into the morgue. He could have caught her around some hidden corner in the dark hallway, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her beneath the last sliver of sunset that streamed through the window.

But he trusted her path would lead her to the place he hoped she would find.

For the first time in years, William felt a peace so utter and complete, he almost doubted the feeling was real.

All he had to do was wait. The task of waiting required no control. No skills or stress or time frame to race.

He slipped his hands out of his pockets, set them on the railing, and turned them over to see his palms. How good to know their work was finished. His hands had toiled over writing a hundred letters, and had tortured his own flesh in the process. His hands had produced art he would have otherwise been incapable of making without Julia's inspiration. They had held her back from danger and attempted to protect her from harm. And when all of this was over, their reward would be to touch her, more boldly and more tenderly than he had ever touched her or anyone else before.

He sighed with a rich shudder and let his fingers curl closed. He folded both his hands into fists, closed his eyes, and felt the suppressed streams of his strength sweep through his body.

Behind his closed eyes he could sense the heat of the sun fading, but the heat of his breeched desires quickly replaced it.

His gaze lifted, and his breath quieted as he watched daylight's final second flash before his eyes. The forest went through beautiful changes when the dusk descended. William's favourite time of evening was right after the sun went down; the sky was still dotted with speckles of coral pink light, shimmering behind hazy clouds. The forest was bathed in blue and green shadows, like a lush lagoon.

The birds were all gone now, retreating to their nests for the night.

He was inspired to retreat into his own nest.

Coming into his office, William carefully lit one small lamp on his desk. He sat himself down, opened his journal and set his pen against the page, poised to write one last entry before his life would change forever.

Before this evening, I was a man starved. Now I know the mercy meal has been promised to me. I am waiting in the shadows for the light to pass over me. I am awaiting her healing touch.

This life is not my own to spend in aching joys and feeble yearnings. If I cannot have her as my own, if I cannot touch her with my hands, kiss her ravenously each night, or whisper words of lover's whim to her ears, I cannot live.

My heart was cast in shadow until I found her. We were made for one another, by God's design. I am convinced that I could live another millennium and never find another woman as perfect as Julia.

By tomorrow I will have placed my ring on her finger and my lips on hers.

By tomorrow I will have made her mine in every way possible.


End file.
